


She Was

by Ember Nickel (primeideal)



Series: Lost for Words [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Challenge Response, Constrained Writing, Gen, Lipogram
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:16:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/Ember%20Nickel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alicia Spinnet's fate after the battle. Lipogram challenge; this story excludes the letters O and U. Originally written August 2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Was

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Gadsby" Challenge on HPFC (Fanfiction.Net), aka "like, Ember's favorite kind of challenge."

They tell me I'll fly again. I feel like hexing them.

I'll be fine, and I'll fly if I feel like it. I'll find a way, if it's that big a deal. Believing this is easy; it's the  _hearing_  it all the time that's hard.

I attend a few gatherings, fewer than many friends. Fred's is the hardest. I knew him as a teammate, a friend, even an enterprising wizard. It's Fred Weasley the family member, the fighter, the  _dead_ , that I never knew.

And I'm a reminder, it's clear, even sitting in the back and wishing I'd blend in. I'm a reminder that, despite cremating Fred (he'd have wanted a flying exit, spread everywhere), we will always miss him. We can't draw a bright line between war and peace, saying that we live in "happily ever after" since we're  _after_. Remembering Fred and missing him will be evidence. And glancing at me is evidence.

They pity me, and still they resent me. I resent myself. I wish I was invisible—if Angelina smiled, acted girlishly again, if Katie celebrated, I'd be fine. Instead, they talk with me, saying a little yet still aggravating me.

I can't stand my parents' well-meaning friends talking in their silly way..."She's a brave girl! I can't believe she'd fight in that war! Wasn't it yesterday she had her first Cleansweep Seven?"

I appreciate silence. I appreciate the letter sent by a man that—selfishly, yet  _sensibly—_ is  _living_ , spending little time grieving. I appreciate being treated as a peer, distant yet respected, again.

Yet I can't explain this. Explaining what he did right (that is, what they  _didn't_ ) merely tells them that I am weak, that talking with me can't be easy. Instead, I smile; if I seem satisfied, maybe this baby talk will end.

This strategy isn't a winner.

It isn't like my career has finished. I never had skill like wizards that play as their career. This is still the case. It isn't like anything's changed, that way.

I was an apprentice with Cleansweep, and that's where I'll head back, as early as I can. My arms are intact; I can craft a handle as well as any witch. I practice magic spells, staying in shape that way. The war interfered with the  _craft-sell-craft-sell_ rhythm, certainly, yet Cleansweep still exists. I'm financially independent, and in a few weeks, I can earn a living again.

They tell me there's a special team. "The Magpies are inviting players." "Try it!" "She was a brilliant Chaser, I bet she'd make it!"

Was, they say, as if I can't hear. (That's the remaining twin's scar. It isn't mine.) As if I'm dead as well.

They can't find as many wizards like me as we'd need in a real game. This war's  _finished_ , it isn't as if there will be many careers ended by Dark Magic. I'm essentially by myself, in this manner. And it's better like this.

I tell them a special team is a silly idea if it lacks rivals. What am I? Merely a display, a reminder? They'd have me fly a lap, then wave me away.

They tell me I'll fly again. I'm finished talking back.

After all, I can still feel where my legs were.


End file.
